Decker,
I really hope you get to read this letter before you do something really stupid, like kill someone and end up in prison without knowing the truth of what really happened at the cabin. Though most of what has probably been reported is true, there is one thing that’s not. One thing I can guarantee. Your girl is not the female body they discovered in the rubble and ashes. I know this, because I personally drugged her and took her to a motel before Vincent ever showed up, giving her a packet and letter similar to this one.
Assuming she followed my directions and everything played out as I planned, she is currently sitting on the other side of the world, waiting for you to join her in a few weeks. Both of you have been provided completely new identities, and in this envelope, you will find everything you need to begin life as Zachary Covey. Travel arrangements have also been made to take you to her, but again, I have set them up for a few weeks in the future, expecting there will be some things you need to do before you walk away from your current life. If you so choose to, that is.
Make no mistake about what I’m suggesting. If you want to spend the rest of your life with the woman you love, the woman you risked your life for numerous times in the last several weeks, you will have to cut ties with every single person you know and love, including your family and friends. Not a single person can know who you will become or where you are going, or both your lives will be in grave danger. It has to be a clean slate.
Whatever or however you decide to do this, it will need to be convincing, and you need to accept that you can never return to being Madden Decker. It’s a huge sacrifice and a decision only you can make for yourself, but I’ll tell you that I’ve lived the last couple of years without the woman I love, and it’s fucking hell. By blowing up this cabin, I’ll finally be with her again and my suffering will end.
If you make the decision to go to her, she will be able to fill you in on a few more details of the story, but at this point, I’m just going to leave this letter with these instructions. First, no matter what you do, burn this letter. Never leave any evidence. Second, make a decision and stick with it. Don’t spend the rest of your life wondering ‘what if.’ And finally, don’t be fucking stupid. Go get your girl.
-Raze
Blinking back the moisture in my eyes, I fold the paper back into the quartered-square and shove it back into the bag. To think I almost didn’t even open that envelope . . .
I shake the horrible thought from my head. It doesn’t matter that it took me seven days after Blake’s funeral to finally get around to attending to the pile of mail on my table; the important thing is I did. And I’m here.
There are still so many unanswered questions, but I don’t care. If I can get to her—my sweet girl—it doesn’t matter what our names are, or where we live, or that we have no one but each other to build a new life on. The only thing I care about is being with her. She fills holes in my life I didn’t know existed until she appeared, and if there’s even the most miniscule chance I can be with her, I’ll give it all up . . . I did give it all up. Because a hundred percent of everything else doesn’t equate to even one percent of her.
The hardest part about leaving my life as Madden Decker behind was my parents. I knew a fake suicide note would wreck them, but it was the only way. Leading up to the day I supposedly threw myself into the Pacific Ocean, much like Emerson had, due to my overwhelming depression from losing both her and Blake, I made sure to spend quality time with them and ensure they were aware of how much they meant to me. Saying goodbye led to me drinking a fifth of whisky by myself in my bed that night, but ultimately, I had no choice. I’d live a miserable life if I didn’t go through with my plan.
The last night I spent with Easton was a little easier. For one, the last couple of months had been a huge wake-up call for him, and he was finally starting to get his act together. From fearing for his life because he owed the Russian mafia a huge sum of money, to losing Emerson and Blake—or so he thought, at some point he realized what was important in life and began taking an active role in both the company and our family. Secondly, he’d mentioned that he had taken Jae out a few times to dinner and a movie, and it seemed he truly liked her. I wasn’t sure what would happen between them, but I hoped my “suicide” would only bring them closer. Part of me felt that when Easton and I said goodbye that final night, he knew something was up, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t believe my note. But if he does think that I was up to something, he’ll know why I did it, and I trust him to keep my secret safe.
Leaning my head back on the seat, I close my eyes and replay memories of Blake and me over the past few months as we were getting to know each other and rapidly falling in love. Before I know it, the captain’s voice reverberates throughout the cabin, announcing our impending arrival, and a short time later, I’m stepping off the plane and approaching a man with a sign that reads Mr. Z. Covey.
The attendant offers me no name, but his English is precise and he apparently knows the ins-and-outs of the small airport. In a whirlwind of action, he leads me down to baggage claim, where he scoops up my one large suitcase and leads me out to a car parked at the curb. Once both me and my bag are inside the backseat, the man slides behind the steering wheel—which is on the wrong side of the car—and off we go.
“I guess I should ask where you are taking me, Mr. umm . . .” I chuckle nervously as I look around the front seat for some indication of the guy’s name.
“I am driving you where I was instructed to deliver you, Mr. Covey,” he replies matter-of-factly, his expression offering nothing as far as a clue.
Sighing, I nod and twist to look out the window. “Can I at least ask how long it will take to get there? I’ve been flying from one airport to another over the past twenty-six hours and I’m exhausted. I’d just like to know if there’s a nap anytime in my future.”
A ghost of a smile slips over his face before he responds, “The drive is about an hour, sir, but I doubt you will be doing a lot of sleeping when you arrive at your destination.”
My pulse speeds up with hope, but I say nothing. I’m still not convinced this guy isn’t taking me somewhere to kill me, though if that was Raze’s ultimate goal before he died, certainly it could’ve been easier than going to all of this trouble.
As promised, about an hour later, the car pulls up in front of a modern home that appears to be in a rather secluded, upscale community. The driver turns the engine off and jumps out of the car, hurrying around to open my door for me. I unfold my shaky legs and push myself off of the bench seat, grabbing my bag as I exit the vehicle.
I follow him to the front door in silence, trying my best to take in everything around me, but I’m having such sensory overload my brain is having issues processing any of it. I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing, but all I can hope is that this will all turn out okay. Actually, I want better than okay. I want her.
Reaching out, the man grabs hold of the doorknob and turns it, but before he pushes it open, he looks at me over his shoulder. “Mr. Covey, Miss Anastasia has been waiting for this day for quite some time, and I hope for the both of you that you will find the happiness you both seek here. Together.” I mentally trip over the Miss Anastasia part, but when he swings the door wide open and I see my Blake—with hair the same faux black as mine—standing in the foyer, I tune out everything else.
Better than the best scene in the best romantic movie, when our gazes meet and we sprint into each other’s arms, the entire world shifts on its axis. Angels play trumpets. Stars are born. Bells ring. And my heart heals.